


the stately end to the legend of the Winter Soldier

by carloabay



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Renegotiated Sokovia Accords, Deaf Clint Barton, F/F, M/M, Mild Blood, Quote: I'm with you 'til the end of the line, Retirement, thorbruce if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:39:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24979300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carloabay/pseuds/carloabay
Summary: Steve and Bucky's retirement.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 15
Kudos: 58





	1. will you take me far away?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooklyn is a long way from incredible, unimaginable Wakanda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyy new multi chapter thing
> 
> Except the chapters will all be short and sweet no worries I will keep on updating GG, this is just my side-piece

Steve presses his fingers softly against Bucky's carbon palm and frowns, just a sort of soft crease between his eyebrows. Not the sharp face he makes when he's annoyed. Bucky flexes his fingers, marvelling at the electricity of touch running up his arm. He's spent so long using a plated metal hand to crush and punch and pull triggers that the new, gentle feel of the arm is something so alien.

"I've got someplace for us, Buck," he says, tapping the hard skin of the hand with his fingernail.

"Oh yeah?"

"It's in Brooklyn." He peers down into Bucky's face like a goose, like he's worried. Bucky curls the hand, _his_ hand, around Steve's forefinger, and thinks about Brooklyn. Plum trees, hot summers on linen shirts, block fights and workhorses and rainstorms.

His head is so clear now, so bright and full. He owes Shuri everything, and he hasn't been shy to say it for the past few days. In true Shuri style, she has just rolled her eyes and demanded to look at his arm again.

"To see if I missed something!" she says, when he protests.

"To make it better! Don't you want upgrades?"

"Oh, come on. You cannot just expect me to sit here and stare at that obvious malfunction every time you move your thumb, can you?"

He's learnt that she's never satisfied, or maybe that her work is never finished.

"Buck? What do you think about that?" Steve blinks at him, still goose-like and hovering. Bucky gives him his widest grin, makes it big and bright like the midday Wakandan sun. Brighter, make it better, Barnes.

"Home is home," he says, and Steve cracks a grin, finally.

"That's what Sam says."

"Wise guy," Bucky says, and Steve laughs like quicksilver and warmth.

"I'll tell him you said that." The cryo chamber has made Bucky fuzzy and confused today, and his tongue is too tired to say all he wants to, so he leans forward, tips his whole body until his forehead is resting in the curve of Steve's collarbone. Steve's hand comes up to the back of his neck and stays there, gently holding Bucky in place. Like he wants to throw his arms around Bucky and hold his broken parts together, but he can't because he'll shatter all the careful glue.

"Brooklyn is a long way from here," Bucky says, mumbles more like, into the heavy, cottony softness of Steve's shirt. Steve smells like shiro and milk. He's been eating street food. 

"We've got a plane," he murmurs back.

"Oh, good. I was worried we'd have to walk," Bucky replies. His sentences are lengthening, stretching their limbs as if after a long sleep. He was only in the chamber for three hours, while Shuri tinkered with the arm, after he'd complained that he couldn't sleep otherwise. Not even with Steve wrapped around him, somehow taking up the entire bed. In truth, Bucky still doesn't trust any of his muscle memories, and he doubts if he ever will, even when Shuri clears him. He doesn't want to drift off and wake up holding a knife to Steve's throat. It would set him months back, therapeutically speaking.

Of course, Shuri has someone for that, someone to help him untangle his blended brain. Haji Tesfaye, the best Wakanda has to offer. Greying, yet sprightly and warmly cunning, a man from the Golden City itself, who seems to convey every value of the Wakandan people all at once. A whirlwind of a man, but somehow, it's never hard to keep up, and the whirlwind ends up keeping up with you instead. With Bucky's blended brain.

Soon, he'll be gone. No more Haji. No more cryo chamber. No more loud Wakandan celebrations, peaceful nights, no more _hoverbikes_. It'll be the open air, on a quinjet, then the skyline of New York, then the brick and sun and rain of Brooklyn. It'll be days and days and days with Steve, all the fill of him that Bucky would ever want. Anything. It stretches out before him in the skin of Steve's neck: long mornings and longer afternoons, walks and talks and smiles and Steve, all of him.

He's never imagined that kind of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it, cause if you didn't, there's still a lot more to come! :)
> 
> I will update the tags as I go


	2. can you hold my hand again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving Wakanda

T'Challa and Shuri and four of the Dora Milaje give Steve and Bucky a quiet goodbye just before they get on the jet. With T'Challa, it's a respectful handshake and Bucky's tongue-tired thanks, but when he moves to Shuri, she throws her arms around him, ignoring his outstretched hand.

"Honestly, colonizer. Handshakes? You don't know me at all," she teases into his ear, and he tentatively closes his right arm around her. The other one hangs lonely by his side. It's not that he doesn't trust it. Maybe he just doesn't trust himself.

"Thank you," he manages when they break apart, and she rolls her eyes.

"Look after the arm. That's state of the art, you know that."

"Thank you," he says again, a little lost for words. She punches his flesh arm and grins.

"Send me a thank you gift," she says.

"You're a princess," Bucky complains. "You already have everything." And she snorts.

"Fine. Send me a lock of Steve's hair, and I'll clone him for you. It will be an educational experience for us both." She's joking, but even so, he shudders.

"Two Steves," he says. "No thanks. One is enough." Shuri laughs and pushes him towards the jet, where Steve is waiting, a bag over one shoulder, his hair turning too-bright gold from the sun. Bucky walks, step after step, because sometimes he falls. He reaches for Steve like a little kid, both hands out towards him, and Steve holds out his free arm, and Bucky takes it with both of his, Steve's hand enclosed between skin and metal. 

They hold each other for the whole ride home. Bucky doesn't let go once, not when his right palm gets warm and sticky, not when Steve tries to undo a bottle cap one-handed, not when the jet hits turbulence and they rattle around like sticks in a box.

"I'm starting to think you don't like flying," Steve says over the sound of the jet. It's not that. The engine is quiet enough, not the creaking roar of a helicopter, but it's the metal cage of the thing that scares him. Bucky presses his palm into the back of Steve's hand and sniffs the clean smell of the jet.

They land at the compound, and America welcomes Bucky with a stone-grey sky and wet grass. There's people waiting for them: a red-haired woman that Bucky wants to believe he knows. A man in a fine suit and glasses. Sam Wilson. A man with legs caged in some sort of prosthesis. He looks them all over from the mouth of the jet, and puts three inches of his shoulder behind Steve's when they walk out. Bucky is still clinging unconsciously to Steve's hand, and he frantically disentangles himself when he realises.

"Hey, Cap," the man in the suit says when they get close, and the two of them shake hands. Oh. Tony Stark. Tony _Stark_. The Iron Man. Bucky angles his body further behind Steve's. Steve greets every body else, happy and friendly, and the red-haired woman sneaks green glances at Bucky. He sneaks glances back, and when he does, she gives him a hint of a knowing smile, and his clear bright brain bounces confusedly in his head.

"We're gonna miss you, Steve," Tony says, when all the hellos are through. Steve smiles.

"Well, we'll be just in the city, and you're all welcome to camp out whenever you like."

"I'll be sure to tell Barton that, I bet he's kicked out of the house more often than he's in it," quips Tony. Then he looks right at Bucky and Bucky puts his whole body behind Steve's. "You doin' okay there, Bashful?" he asks, and holds out his hand for a handshake. "I'm Tony." Bucky looks from his hand to his eyes to Steve, and all that nervousness collects in a cold lump in his chest. He shakes Tony's hand, but Tony's eyes are on his left arm, the black and gold beauty that Shuri fixed to his shoulder. "Je _sus_ ," he says, breathlessly. "That's a beaut. You're a lucky man, Barnes." He lets go, and Bucky can feel himself flush. He's not meant to be nervous. His clear, bright brain tells him that James Barnes used to be top at making friends: Steve tells him that he could walk into a room full of bandits and walk out a godfather to one of their kids.

"That's Natasha, and Rhodey," Steve says to Bucky, indicating the woman and the other man. Natasha grins like a shark. Rhodey waves. "And this is your Wise Guy, Sam. You remember Sam."

"Hi," Bucky says, and Sam nods at him.

"What's up." He looks at Steve. "Wise Guy?" Steve just spreads his hands, and Bucky has a sudden, nervous urge to laugh. Sam just looks bemused, and Steve looks down at Bucky with a wide grin. His hair wasn't golden from the Wakandan sun. It was just golden, even in the moody grey of an American morning.


	3. do you feel all my love?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quiet of retirement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched Agents of Shield and i'm- I'm in love with Daniel Sousa. Idk. I just am.

Retirement makes them sound like old men. They are, technically, and Bucky sometimes feels bone-damp and tired and grouchy, but Steve doesn't seem to feel the years they've both had and missed. He goes running every day at six with Sam, he goes to schools and parks and homes, he plays with kids and he bakes and cooks and shops and paints. Just thinking about it could make Bucky exhausted.

Bucky, on the other hand, gets up long after Steve has left for his run. He puts bun dough or loaf dough in the bread maker, every morning. He pours out cereal by himself in the kitchen and watches the solid skyline of New York just sit there in the morning sun. He reads: The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy, Where The Sidewalk Ends, The World According to Garp. He finishes the books, takes the train to the library, and cleans out their stock of twentieth and twenty-first century novels. He walks the streets with his arm out on display, the books in his bag, and the honking, smokey breeze on his face, hours and hours walking back to the apartment.

Then Steve comes home, and they shape the bread together: flour lined palms and white-dusted pants. They eat lunch: Steve wolfs down plate after plate and Bucky eats two bread buns and a piece of fruit, most of the time. Sometimes Steve brings home copied Wakandan street food that he's found. They've both developed a craving for it, but it's nowhere near the real thing. 

Maybe Natasha turns up with a box of Chinese for herself and sits on their table like a cat, a tiny, fine-boned, flame-headed devil underneath the lamplight. 

Maybe Sam comes home with Steve, both of them drenched in sweat and hungry, and Clint drops by, and Bucky and Sam throw pillows at each other while Steve makes lunch and the TV blares kid's cartoons and Clint drapes himself over the couch and lays bets with himself on who will win the cushion fight. 

Maybe Tony calls on the phone in the middle of an important government meeting to ask Steve his opinion, with Rhodey groaning and stalling in the background as decorated generals and annoyed politicians rail him with questions.

Or maybe Bucky and Steve sit in the same armchair, Steve's fingers in Bucky's hair and a book in Bucky's hands, and Bucky slowly falls asleep as Steve reads aloud.

It's a small existence, a peaceful one. A soft time to protest against the time they spent apart, alone.

"Buck, Natasha wants to take you to a movie," Steve says at five thirty in the morning, hopping around trying to pull on his socks and search the closet for his running shirt at the same time.

"Mmngrh," Bucky groans, wiggling further into the soft cave of bedsheets. Steve had cracked the shades open a little, and golden sunlight is now streaming onto the pillows. 

"Come on, it'll be great. I'm coming, and Clint as well, but he said only if I buy him candy. What do you say?" He gives up searching in the closet and instead starts to blindly stumble around the barely-lit room, trying to get to his drawers. He never leaves his stuff on the floor. He's meticulously, architecturally tidy, so it's always Bucky's jacket hung over the bedpost, or his shoes scattered down the hallway, or that huge sweater Natasha always leaves behind draped across the sofa, or band-aids from Clint, littered over the bathroom floor.

"Your shir's in th'wash," Bucky slurs. Steve doesn't hear.

"She said 'it will be an inductive experience.' Oh and also 'when else will I get the chance to take two ninety year old men to their first 3D movie?' Did you say my shirt's in the wash?"

"Guh," grunts Bucky, shoving his face into the warm, stuffy interior of the bed. Dark and silent and Steve-less. He pulls his head out again. Steve has left, stumbling down the hall to the dryer in the washroom, and Bucky blinks himself awake. Across the room, the arm winks at him from the dresser. He doesn't wear it to bed: one, he hasn't got used to sleeping with it on yet, and two...it's just weird.

Bucky struggles out of bed, rolling around in the comforter until it's wrapped loosely around his shoulders and he can hold it with his one hand, and then he waddles out of the bedroom and situated himself in the hall by the front door. He waits, and waits, and then Steve comes out of the washroom, pulling his tee-shirt over his head, the dim light in the hall sliding over all his muscles. Bucky gives him a sly grin as Steve emerges from the shirt, hair half-tousled.

"Morning," Steve says, grinning stupidly at Bucky and bending down to kiss him. It's this moment, the love, the half-light, the sleepy movement, that makes his heart soar in a way he's never remembered. The peace of mind, and the happiness of heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How is it that I can write two gay men in love, but can't write two straight teenagers havin a kiss? ??


	4. is there something else to say?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maccie D's fixes everything.

"I'm kinda worried," Steve says, taking a jug of juice from the fridge and pouring out two glasses. Sam takes one, still panting hard, toasts Steve with it, and knocks it back.

"What's going on with him?" he asks, once he has his breathing under control. Steve rests a hip against the counter and sips his juice thoughtfully.

"He's not eating that much. I mean, I guess he's had to build up an appetite after, you know, but..." _You know_ has become Steve's codeword for Bucky's anguish at the hands of the Russians, and then Hydra. Like he can't figure out the right words without turning Bucky ghost-eyed and distant, or like it causes Steve physical pain to say it properly. "He's been getting skinnier, for sure. He's definitely not eating nearly enough, his metabolism is almost as quick as mine and I eat ten times more stuff than he does." Steve takes another sip and catches Sam's frown. "What do you think I should do?"

"Well, I'm no trauma biologist, but maybe you should try giving him food you know he loves? I always overeat when I see those Arepas trucks in New Orleans. You know what I mean?" He gives Steve a knowing eye, and Steve hums thoughtfully.

"He liked the Wakandan street food, from the city. But we can't find any good stuff in New York."

"Hell, get Tony to fly out and getcha some. He'd be more'n happy, right?"

"I don't wanna inconvenience him," Steve says with a grimace, and Sam rolls his eyes.

"You'd be doing Pepper a favour, more like," he jokes, and Steve cracks a weak smile. "Where is Barnes, anyway?"

"Library. I thought he'd be back by now, though. What's the time?" Sam is just checking his phone when the front door opens and Bucky comes in, followed by a drooping Clint.

"Jesus," Sam says. "What happened to you?"

"He dropped his iPod down the drain," Bucky answers, switching on the TV as Clint falls face first into the couch. Adventure Time blares to life, and Steve wrinkles his nose in distaste.

"What's with the cartoons all the time, Barton?" he asks.

"I've got kids, Rogers, cartoons're the only thing I'm legally allowed to watch," Clint says, sitting up and resting his chin on his palm to watch the show.

"Don't get snooty," Bucky warns. "The amount of times I've caught you watching Bugs Bunny at night-" Steve cuts him off with an indignant choking gasp, and Sam snorts.

"Oh, come on. Bugs Bunny is classic, right?" Steve tries, and Sam slaps him on the shoulder in mock disappointment as Bucky dumps his books on the kitchen counter with a wide grin. Steve glares.

"Got lunch?" he asks hopefully, and Steve shakes his head, taking a moment to swallow his juice.

"We're going to the movies, then we're going out to eat," Steve says. Bucky frowns.

"What movie?"

"Nat let Clint pick."

"Clint, what'd you pick?" Bucky calls over the sound of the cartoons, and Clint signs back _what?_ at him and waits lazily. Bucky rolls his eyes. _Movie?_ he signs back. Clint's been teaching him, and he's not as fast or fluid or even as fluent as he'd like, but they get by so far.

"The Lego Batman movie!" Clint yells, and Steve groans.

"That's what you get for letting the man-child choose the viewing," Sam says. Clint isn't watching or straining to listen, so his misses it, and Sam turns to leave, shaking his head.

"Listen, Buck, I gotta phone Tony and have a shower, okay? Nat's coming by in half an hour. You think you can keep McHuman Disaster alive until then?"

"Sir, yessir," Bucky says distractedly, sitting down on Clint's stretched out legs with The Colour Purple. Clint gives a mild noise of discontent, Bucky ignores him, and Steve ducks out of the room to dial Tony's number.

Bucky ends up enjoying The Lego Batman movie, to an extent, but mostly only because of the disbelieving faces Steve makes in a series throughout the film. After Wakandan technology, Lego 3D movies are a step down in shock factor, but Steve was always dismissive of new technology way back when, so Bucky finds it somewhat refreshing to see the surprise and wonder behind the red and green plastic glasses on Steve's face. It's only afterwards, when Natasha asks him what he thought of the movie, that he realises he had been watching Steve the entire time instead. 

Falling into step with him after he'd spluttered an approving reply, Natasha walks on tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "If you were any more head over heels, you'd have to ask him to marry you." And Bucky ducks away, red in the face and utterly thrown as Natasha gives him her devil-grin.

Eating out, according to Clint, is apparently McDonalds, and Happy Meals all round. Clint looks ecstatic when Natasha orders, and when Bucky throws him a questioning glance, he signs, _Laura doesn't like the kids eating fast food_. After a hesitation, he adds, _Or me_ , and Bucky bursts into laughter, earning him questioning glances from Steve to go along with the little kids goggling at his metal hand from the safety of their tables, hunched on their seats. Watching like hawks.

Natasha wastes all of her nuggets by throwing them, one by one, into Clint's mouth, and Bucky gives her all but two of his. Clint catches them on his tongue too, and Steve watches them disappear down Clint's throat with the air of a funeral-goer.

"I can get you some more, if you want, Steve," Bucky offers, glancing at Steve's nine empty Happy Meal boxes, but Steve shakes his head.

"Buck..."

"Yeah?"

"You don't have much of an appetite, do you?" His question is nonchalant, but his tone is anything but, and Bucky wipes grease from his fingers with a frown.

"What?"

"You just...don't seem to be eating much." Bucky shrugs carefully, eyeing Steve's expression. Next to them, Natasha readies her fries like mini javelins.

"I'm okay, Stevie," Bucky says gently, teasing, but Steve looks at his hands.

"Look, Buck. Shuri recommended, once you were settled back in Brooklyn, somebody to help."

"What do you mean?" Bucky asks, though he already has an inkling.

"With the...I guess the loss of appetite. Trauma. Memories. PTSD." He rattles them off like a shopping list, and Bucky curves his spine over a little, like he's curling around all his issues, to prevent their fragile shells from being aired to the world. "Buck, I know you're not sleeping. Haji and the cryo chamber helped, but this is much deeper than that can alleviate, right?" Does he really have a right to touch on all those wounded places? Bucky tries not to shut away, he tries to float on memories of the warm morning and Steve's arm flung across Bucky's chest in bed. It's not about rights, he decides. It's about bandages.

"Okay," he breathes, with less conviction than he feels. "Who's the new shrink?" And Steve beams like Bucky's given him the world, until Clint shoots a paper straw cover at the back of his head, and the smile vanishes. Bucky starts to snort, shakily at first, uncurling from his wounds, and then Steve rolls his eyes and he laughs and laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo I'm sorry if you're waiting up for GG I just cannae be arsed to write that rn.


	5. is all this the simple life?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony!!

Tony arrives at the front door the next day with an armful of warm paper bags and a wide grin. Steve lets him in and he dumps the bags ceremoniously all over Bucky's book-covered table.

"Hey," Bucky protests, without conviction, and Tony whips his sunglasses off.

"Behold," he says, arms held wide. "All the Wakandan food you could possibly think of. We have: Mahamri, Bhajia, Mandazi, Shiro and Mahindi Choma." Bucky's eyes grow as wide as hubcaps, and Tony crosses his arms, looking pleased, and starts to wander the apartment. "I flew sixteen hours there and back for that," he calls over his shoulder as he looks at a kid's drawing Steve had framed. "And Barnes, dearest, if you don't eat it, I shall be perishingly sad." 

"You're such an insufferable-" Bucky starts, dipping his hand into the bag.

"-caring, wonderful, friendly-" Tony interrupts.

"-annoying, dramatic," Natasha lists, climbing onto the table and sniffing the bag of mandazi.

"Nattie, darling, you wound me," Tony sighs, and Natasha throws one of the spicy, yeasty doughnuts at him. Bucky starts to eat and Steve hangs over him, hovering almost.

"Steve I'm eating, you don't have to do that," Bucky mumbles around a mouthful of mahamri.

"I heard you went to see a movie, old man," Tony says to Steve, who shrugs.

"It was okay."

"Okay?" Natasha scoffs. "You didn't stop talking about it for hours!" Steve goes beet red and Bucky grins.

"The 3D thing was so real," Steve insists, and Tony claps him on the shoulder.

"We've all been there," he says. Bucky squints at him.

"Really?"

"No, nothing amazes me anymore," Tony replies, and Steve rolls his eyes. "Hey, Romanoff!"

"Mmhr," Natasha replies, licking sugar from her fingers and crossing her legs.

"You know where the bird is?"

"Whith wonn?" she asks, cheeks bulging. Bucky starts to laugh at her face, and she sprinkles sugar over his hair until he stops.

"Sammie boy," Tony says. "I've got someone new for the team, but the idiot won't pick up his phone." Natasha swallows her huge mouthful and takes a gulp of Bucky's water. For a tiny girl, Bucky thinks, she eats a lot. When she wants to.

"Who is it?"

"Mm-mm. Nuh-uh. Team leader's ears only."

"You've been recruiting, Tony?" Steve asks interestedly.

"Yup. Since Captain America did a Sean Connery, we've had a big ol' hole to fill. Wanda needs someone stupid to chuck through seventh story windows with a single jump." Steve looks offended for a second, then Natasha jumps back into the conversation.

"Call Clint. Sam might be at his," she offers, but Tony makes a rude noise.

"Barton never picks up the phone. God, ever since I knew he had kids he's been a real bummer."

"He wasn't always like that?" Bucky asks, and Natasha snorts and Tony shakes his head.

"Oh, he's been a disaster since day one, but he's been _busy_ lately."

"Never thought I'd see the day, to be honest," Steve says.

"Have a little faith," Natasha replies, sticking her hand into another bag. Bucky's starting to feel rather full.

"You're not gonna suddenly tell us that you have kids and a husband and a long-lost grandmother, are you?" Tony asks, pretending to be shocked, and Natasha kicks out at his hip.

"Steve, you want some?" Bucky asks, shaking a bag at Steve, and after a couple seconds of deciding, Steve relents and tucks in.

"So, what do retired super soldiers do for fun around here?" Tony asks, heaving himself into the counter to stand and reach the cupboard above the sink.

"If you're looking for the coffee, we don't have any," Steve says, and Tony groans.

"Really?"

"I'm not allowed caffeine," Bucky says with a shrug. "According to Shuri. Not for like eight weeks, anyway. And Steve doesn't like it." Tony makes a face and drops down to the floor with a thud.

"Ugh. You didn't answer my first question."

"I read," Bucky says, distracted by the food. "A lot. I had McDonald's, but I wasn't supposed to. Steve goes running."

"Oh, the simple life," Tony mutters. Natasha's phone buzzes repeatedly against the wooden table and she digs it from her pocket and frowns.

"I gotta go," she says, unfolding herself and leaping down off the table.

"Mission alert?" Steve asks.

"You got Sammie on the line?" Tony asks.

"Are you going on a date?" Bucky calls, but she's already left the room, and a few seconds later, the front door opens and shuts and she's gone. Tony frowns after her, then turns back to Bucky and rests his chin on his hand.

"See, Barnes, Stevie told me you're getting a new shrink, but how would you feel about a job on your free days?" he asks. And Bucky stares at him.


	6. would you give me sanity?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky starts to _really_ heal.

Nasim is nothing like Haji. She's much younger, for a start, but she's less sprightly, more...contained. Cool and sedated and dignified. She's a veteran of the Dora Milaje, which in itself made Thor's eyes bug out in awe when he dropped by (landing with rattling thunder on their apartment building's roof) and Bucky told him all about Nasim. She's colourful and has a smile that, although rationed, lights a room in a matter of seconds. She's patient with Bucky's deflecting and stumbling and mumbling and general unwillingness, and whereas Haji would usually rap his toe on the ground and give Bucky a stern stare, Nasim lets her sunlit smile and quiet reassurance do the job of pulling out Bucky's tangled, bloodstained thoughts.

"I'll see you next week, then," she says gently, closing her notebook and reaching for her walking stick. She has a prosthetic knee from a shrapnel injury while serving Wakanda, and the first time Bucky saw the metal joint beneath the edge of her skirt, he thinks he may have short-circuited with joy. Because she _knows_. Nasim rises to her feet gracefully, hand clenched white-knuckled around the handle, and Bucky holds out an arm to get her the rest of the way to her feet. She smiles gratefully, and they go to the door together, Nasim hobbling just a little, Bucky spine-bent and supporting. "Oh, before I forget," she starts. "How is your new job?"

"Tony pays me in gummy bears," Bucky says, and Nasim laughs like a flute. Tony hired him a few months to help around with the Avengers: nothing too strenuous, just a bit of PR here and organisation there, sometimes a day in the lab with Bruce, sometimes a meet with a few Asgardians. Bucky loves it. "It's great. I met all the Avengers. I give their autographs out to kids sometimes."

"I'm glad you like it. I knew I had a lot to work with when Captain Rogers told me you were reading all day."

"Hey," Bucky protests, opening the door for her. "Reading is good for cranial development."

"But not for social development," Nasim reminds him with a teasing smile, and Bucky says, "I could push you down these stairs with a clear conscience." Nasim grins wider. Another thing about her: she jokes with Bucky just like Sam and Clint do, but never allows him to degrade himself. 

"Steve's thinking about handing the shield over to Sam," Bucky says quickly, excitedly, because he's not been allowed to discuss it with anyone else so far. Nasim raises her eyebrows, eyes wide, and Bucky nods. "He's leading the Avengers. He's gonna give him the shield and everything."

"I'm glad," she says. "I'm sure he deserves the mantle."

"He does," Bucky says, practically vibrating with excitement. "He'll be great." Nasim detatches herself from Bucky at the top of the stairs, earrings sparking like matches in the low sun from the window. "Thank you," he says, and she bows her head in acknowledgement.

"You're making great progress. I'm proud of you, James." A rare, heartfelt compliment. Bucky floats on it all the way down the stairs: his respect for her means that every word of praise from her is like gold to his broken head.

Clint is waiting for him outside, on Natasha's motorcycle. His jeans are way too short, and his socks are odd: one striped like a bumblebee, one pink and purple polka dots. He's wearing what looks like a yellow kid's crash helmet, and he signs _Evening, Inspector Steel_ at Bucky when he comes through the front door. Bucky swats at his crash helmet and climbs on behind him, wondering if Natasha gave him permission to ride the bike or if he just swiped it from the compound's garage instead without fear of her wrath.

Nasim's place is only an hour's ride from the compound, and that's where Clint drives, so when they get there, the low golden sun is bouncing off the large windows of the garage, and the dust they kick up as Clint brakes (a little screwy on the gravel) makes a little cloud of orange haze. Bucky totters off the bike: Clint doesn't seem to have any regard for road rules or his own life when on a vehicle. They go in, and Steve greets them with a wave and a grin and his shield leaned against his knee. Tony is there, head bent over his phone, and Wanda, Vision, Thor, Bruce and Rhodey and that Scott guy that Bucky doesn't really know and the new guy: the Spider-Man in the red and blue Spandex. No Natasha. Sam isn't there yet either, and Bucky's quivering with excitement for the announcement. 

Scott starts going around with beers for everyone: Spider-Man declines with a nervous 'New York's crime-fighting duties, man. Gotta be sober.' Scott shrugs and carries on. He reaches Bucky and hands him a beer with one of the friendliest grins Bucky has ever seen.

"What's up, dude?" he says. "How was therapy?"

"It was good," Bucky says, accepting the beer. It's cool against the warm heat of the air, and he presses it to his sternum. "How's your kid?"

"Oh, she's great," Scott says, brightening even more. "I took her for a ride in the van, made it miniature. She had the time of her life."

"Focus up," Tony says, finally putting his phone away, and nodding at the double glass doors. Sam is striding towards them, craning his neck at the little crowd and frowning. He throws them open and everyone raises a toast at him all at once.

"Hey, guys. What's going on? Summer barbeque or somethin'?" he jokes. Bucky tries not to bounce his knee in anticipation.

"I've got an announcement to make," Steve says, and Sam looks at him.

"Alright. I'm up for an announcement. Am I late?"

"Nope, you're right on time." Steve's smile is like sunshine, and Sam is looking more and more bewildered every second. "Sam. You've been team leader for almost six months. You've been doing a fantastic job, and you are irreplaceable. I've been watching from afar, and I know that now is the right time: I've decided to hand over the shield. To you." He raises his beer. "To Sam! Captain America!"

"Captain America!" everyone cheers, and Bucky and Clint whoop, Clint sloshing his beer all over Bucky's shoes. Sam just stares, wide-eyed, slack-jawed.

"Serious?" he manages, after a second, choking, almost.

"You're the boss now, boss," Tony replies, taking a swig and offering Sam a grin.

"Serious?" Sam wheezes.

"I'm serious," Steve says, holding out a hand. "Congratulations." Sam takes it and they hug, and then Steve steps back, hoists up the shield, and offers it out. Sam reaches for it like he's taking the Holy Grail, fits his arm into the strap, and holds it out.

"H-how do I look?" he asks, still looking kind of in awe.

"Like a worthy predecessor," Steve says, his smile so wide it looks like it could split his face. _Click_. Tony starts snapping pictures like a sorority girl on holiday, and Sam's face starts to crease in a huge smile. "Nat and Maria couldn't make it, sorry," Steve says apologetically, but Sam waves a hand and pulls Steve back in for another hug. Bucky catches his eye over his shoulder and raises his beer in a silent toast. Sam grins back, and the sunlight in the garage glints off the shine in his eye.


	7. should you save me one more time?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone else's life is complicated, and sometimes they collide with Bucky and Steve's peace. Bucky doesn't mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Severe blood and needle warning in this chapter. Skip if you're squeamish.

Bucky sometimes wonders if Steve fills a space next to Bucky, or if Bucky's world fits around Steve. They wake up together. They hold hands. They smile together, like they're sharing one little piece of joy. They say things they mean, like 'I love you,' and 'I missed you,' and 'I'm glad you saved me.' These things make a space, a pocket in the full universe. Or does the universe curve a dome around them?

Steve has less work, so he paints instead, or sketches, or walks around looking for sculptures in art museums. Bucky buys him Play-Do as a joke. Steve makes a Captain America shield and stares at it with the loss of the past in his eye, so two days later, Bucky takes the Play-Do to the four little kids who live across the street and are always playing with that one worn-out skipping rope. 

Bucky wakes in the dark, or the very early morning, cold and sweating, his teeth clenched to ward off imaginary echoes of pain. His shoulder creaks and aches and his veins are ice, until Steve pulls him back into the warm cave of the bed. He shoves his forehead into the bridge of Bucky's nose and the tips of his fingers into Bucky's thigh, and when Bucky wakes, hours later, there are healing bruises on his leg from the gripping panic of Steve's own nightmares.

Bucky works. Not too strenuously. Today, it's ordering pizza and chewing on it in the lab at the Avenger's Tower, whirling on a spinny chair and listening to Tony cuss out DUM-E and its heavy fire-extinguishing hand while he sparks his way through fixing upgrades onto Veronica. In the corner, Bruce falls asleep over his green tea and outside, through the floor-to-ceiling windows, rain pours down in sheets. Natasha's been gone for two weeks, and Sam has Bucky keeping an eye out for her. Sam's worried, but no one else seems to be, not even Clint. Bucky asked why once, and Tony just gave him a Look. 

Bucky taps his shoe in time to the music and watches Clint getting flung into the mat by Spider-Man on the security footage tablet in his lap. It's like one of those fail videos on YouTube.

The rain hasn't let up by the time Bucky starts to walk to the subway, and before long, his pants are soaked and he's waddling like a penguin to avoid the chafing. 

The train is noisy and smells like raincoats and cigarette stubs. He's used to bad smells: blood and piss and gore and rust and the stink of week-old mud stuck between the lines of his palms.

The key to the door is slippery with water between his fingers, but when he pushes it in, the door slides open without the need for unlocking. 

Steve never forgets to lock the door.

Bucky, frozen, watches the door swing inwards. The roar of the rain drowns his ears. The silence of the building cloaks his terror. If they've found him... Will they kill him? Will they take him away and pull him from his body again? Will they steal his autonomy and send him, a weapon, to murder and maim and torture for them? He waits, in silence, running those awful possibilities, for seven long minutes. 

Seven minutes, where no one jumps out. No one starts shooting. No one drops a net on his head or stabs him with a syringe or puts him in a headlock. No one moves. No one is there.

But Steve never forgets to lock the door.

Bucky steps forward and takes the key back from the keyhole and slips it into his pocket. His arm, his one weapon, hangs loosely by his side. Experimentally, he wiggles his metal fingers. His shoes crack through the silence, tapping holes into a scary quiet, and Bucky slips into the apartment with his heart in his throat and an ache in his left shoulder.

It's empty. Quiet, clean, drowned in the noise of the outside rain. Just as he left it this morning. No footprints. No hiding places, and no one out in plain sight. Bucky checks the bedroom, he checks the kitchen and the living room and under the table. The bathroom, at the back, where the door is cracked open, he should check that next. Bucky turns to walk back to the front door and close it, and his eyes catch on a smudge of something, a bright red something, smeared carelessly over the door jamb.

He's seen enough of that in his lifetime to instantly recognise it. It's blood, and it isn't his. So there is someone here: because Steve never forgets to lock the door. Bucky shuts the door without sound: it closes without a click or a squeak, and he turns back to the bathroom.

 _Clink_.

He takes a step forward. If they're making noise, even just a little, then they're not afraid of being found. But he can't for the life of him think who would break into his and Steve's apartment, bloodied and possibly wounded, instead of going to the hospital, or the Tower.

The bathroom door is open, and there's a leg hooked over the side of the bath, he can see from where he's standing. A pale calf and a dainty foot, toenails painted cerulean blue. Blood. Two weeks gone. Reclining in his bath. _Blood_.

Bucky drops his fear and apprehension like he would a poisonous spider, and rushes into the bathroom to see Natasha, half-dressed and covered in blood, lounging in the bath with a bottle of Smirnoff like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Natasha!" he chokes, and she blinks a lazy eye at him.

Makes a sound, like " _Kffff_ ," or something of the sort. She takes a swig of the bottle, and he notices the half-done stitches in the long gash down her hip, her hand close to the wound and shaking. Shaking like she's scared, or cold.

"Barnes," she says, and her voice is low and rough, like it's hard to grind out sounds through her throat. He's never seen her like this. No...maybe. Maybe he has. Maybe he's held a bleeding, pale, flame-headed girl close to his chest, and pinched and stitched her wound together with steady metal fingers. But maybe that was long ago, in a cold room, where the girl was young and his handlers were harsh and loud.

"Jesus _Christ_ ," he grates, rushing to her side and taking a knee next to the lip of the bath. He surveys the wounds for a second, taking no notice of the fact that she's almost completely naked. He twists, pulls a clean towel from the cupboard beside the sink, and gently guides her trembling fingers away from her wound, then presses the towel to the source of the bleeding. It stains alarmingly quickly, and there are other places where she's hurt, and he can hear himself starting to panic. Quick breaths and worried grunts as he presses hard on her hip. 

Natasha tips her head back against the end of the bath with a thud, and her eyelashes flutter closed above black-bruised cheekbones.

"Please stay awake," he hears himself whine, and he pulls the towel away to check her wound. The stitches were unsteady and won't do anything, so he cuts them with the scissors that are resting on her thigh, and starts to pull them out. Natasha's eyes rolls back in her head in pain, and she lifts the bottle of liquor back to her lips as Bucky surveys the rest of her broken body. Her movements are sluggish and she's just slumped there: judging by the red-stained bath, she's probably on a high of blood loss and alcohol right now.

Bucky grabs another towel and takes her free hand and uses it to press the towel against her hip, and then he scrambles to his feet and starts to empty the medicine cabinet. 

"Where have you been?" he asks, in a clumsy attempt to get Natasha talking.

"Classified," she mumbles.

"Is it a stab wound? What happened?"

"Three," she says. "Hip. Shoulder. Left ribs." And she drinks again, grimacing. Red spreads out through the towel and Bucky fumbles with a couple of bandages.

"Keep talking," he says desperately, dropping to his knees and reaching for his phone. "I'm calling Bruce." But Natasha snatches at his hand, knocking the phone to the floor with blood-slicked fingers, shaking her head. There's blood behind her neck, too, and Bucky reaches over to lift her head. She grabs at him, weak and shaking, and slides around in the wet bath. It's just a scratch under her crown, but when he looks back at her, her eyes are hollow and demanding. Terrifying. "Natasha?"

"Don't call Bruce."

"I-I don't know how to fix you by myself," Bucky says desperately.

"Maria. Maria Hill. Please." She glares at him with dazed eyes until he nods, and then she lowers herself back into the bath. There are bloody prints on the front of his jacket from her fingers.

"Why did you break in?" he asks, picking up his phone again, not wanting her to fall asleep. "You could've gone to the Tower."

"We used to know each other," Natasha breathes wetly. The phone rings for Maria Hill, and Bucky puts it on the floor and starts to pour disinfectant into the sink. Then he throws the needle and thread in with it and checks Natasha's hip wound. It's not bleeding so bad anymore, and he lets the utensils soak for about thirty seconds before he takes them out and dries them. Natasha swigs slowly from the bottle. "In Russia. So long ago. I asked you, if you recognised me. You didn't." Bucky threads the needle.

"I did," he says quietly. Maybe he knew the flame-headed demon of a girl. Natasha stares at him with haunted eyes, and the phone rings itself out. Maria hasn't picked up. Bucky presses re-call and soaks a towel in the disinfectant-filled sink, then presses it quickly to Natasha's wound. She groans and hisses and clenches her bloody hand around the neck of the bottle, and when he's done, she makes an effort to speak again.

"Why didn't you- you've- you never said..."

"I wasn't sure."

"How could you not be sure?" she asks.

"Okay. I was sure...I didn't think you would want to...I didn't remember much." Bucky shakes away the vestiges of a ghostly past, and starts the holding stitch. Natasha watches the progress of the needle with gritted teeth and no fear. 

The phone crackles and the call is received and Bucky almost jumps, startled.

" _Hello?_ " says Maria Hill from the other end.

"Hi," Bucky says, a little breathlessly. Natasha's wound is starting to seep again. Maria sounds very, very desperate. "I don't want to be a bother, ma'am-" Natasha rolls her eyes - "but I have a bleeding spy in my bath. Don't suppose you'd happen to know anything about that?" A pause. "She said to call you instead of a doctor, so I'm doing the best I can."

" _Jesus Christ, Romanoff,_ " Hill snaps, and a small smile breaks Natasha's face. " _Hang in there, both of you. I'm coming._ " The call ends, and Bucky raises an eyebrow at Natasha. They may have both pretended not to hear the desperate break of relief in Hill's voice, but that doesn't mean it wasn't there.

"I was about ten," Natasha mumbles, and Bucky starts the next stitch. She pauses. "Do you- want to remember?"

"Keep going," Bucky says. What he wants doesn't play into the equation right now. The needle slides into her skin and out again, and her eyes glaze over.

"Ten. I think. Siberia. You were...on ice. They were training us there. You came out when we were asleep. I heard you, you tried to fight them. You sounded scared." Next stitch. Her words are slurring more and more, and Bucky wants to believe it's the alcohol. "We saw you the next morning. You trained us. Do you remember?"

"Yes," Bucky rasps. "A little. Natalia. Svetlana. Yelena. Olga. Aikaterina. I don't..."

"Twenty-eight," Natasha says. "You used to get our names mixed up. When you talked. They said it was because the chair made your memory bad."

"They were right." Almost done. There are two more, less severe wounds, and he's feeling good about this. But Natasha's face is grey and slack.

"Svetlana tried the chair. She thought...if she could do it, like you, she'd be the best. The superior. We didn't know what it did."

"They put handcuffs on you when you slept," Bucky says, tying off the last stitch. Natasha sighs.

"You tried to kill me." 

"Many times." He accompanies it with a rough snort. It's not funny.

"You didn't see me, in Washington. In Odessa. In Vienna. You didn't recognise me."

"I don't remember much of Washington. And I've never been to Odessa," Bucky says gently, wiping blood away from the next wound and disinfecting the utensils again.

"You have," Natasha insists. Bucky stares at her.

"No," he says. " _I've_ never been to Odessa. Or Vienna." Natasha lets out a sigh that bubbles blood on her lips.

"Oh." Bucky returns to her stitches, and she starts, interminably, to laugh. "I've never been to Siberia," she huffs, little breathless sounds. "I've never been to Zurich. Kursk. Chichester. Bousso. _I've_ never been there." She grins at him with bloodstained teeth, and Bucky smiles weakly back.

"You know it."

"I've been to Budapest. Washington. You been to Washington?"

"Who do you think dragged that two hundred pound dumbass from the Potomac, huh? Jesus?" Bucky jokes, sliding a holding stitch into the second wound. Natasha giggles, and he looks at all the blood pooling around the plughole. High off blood loss. He got that one right. The second wound takes no time at all, but Natasha keeps glancing slowly, nervously at the door. Bucky starts on the last one, hoping he's kept enough of her blood inside of her, and when he finishes, she stares down at it like he's performed a miracle. "Hey. Nat. Hey!" He slips a hand underneath her head and pulls her into a sitting position, nestles her shoulder into his chest, braces her against his solid frame. He remembers _this_. The girl, who bled out in the cold room in his arms, pressed into his body.

Flame-headed demon.

Natalia.

Natasha grabs weakly at the collar of his jacket and blinks so slowly she might as well be falling asleep.

"Hold out, okay? I got you stitched up. You're gonna be okay." He doesn't know who he's reassuring. He knows he's done this before, and he cradles her tiny form and watches her fight to stay awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone know when the new Black Widow trailers are coming out?? Are they already out?? I'm confused and excited, it's not a fun mix ok
> 
> Btw if u want me to write anything specific, leave a request in the comments and I'll see what I can rustle up :)


	8. you remember all we had?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha's secrets have secrets, and one of them might just be Maria Hill. Bucky's not one to nosy around. Or maybe he is...

Hill rushes into Bucky's apartment with bruises all down the left side of her face and throat and barely a hello. She sees Natasha and varying emotions seem to flash across her usually composed face: terror, distress, fury. Natasha watches Hill stand in the bathroom door for a second, then extricates herself slowly from Bucky's arms and digs her heels into the sides of the bath, pushes herself into a sitting position. 

Hill stares at her for a second, then seems to notice her (mostly) absence of clothes, and awkwardly turns away to give her a semblance of dignity. Bucky thinks he watched Natasha's dignity disappear with the blood down the plughole and the alcohol past her lips, but he doesn't comment. Natasha laughs wearily.

"Are you gonna chew me out with your back turned, Hill?" she asks, licking blood from the side of her mouth.

"You bet I am," Hill snarls, and Bucky gets to his feet.

"I'm gonna give you two a minute. Nat, you can take a bath or a shower if you want. 'Scuse me, ma'am." And he slides past Hill out of the bathroom. Just as he slips inside the bedroom to change his rain-soaked, bloodied clothes, he hears Hill start to rail at Natasha, and the tap to the bath turns on, insolently noisy.

It takes almost ten minutes for Hill to finish telling Natasha off. Bucky hears Natasha give a low, teasing reply, and Hill snort like a dragon, and then he deems it safe to come back out. Hill has her back to the bathroom still, and Natasha is out of the bath and dressed: she's halfway through putting her socks on when she sees Bucky and he sees the pink-stained water behind her. Then he sees her bloodied clothes and rolls his eyes.

"Don't be an idiot. Come on in here, I've got plenty of clothes." And he all but drags her to the bedroom to dive into Steve's drawers for sweatpants and a t-shirt, and then he leaves to fix Hill a coffee and they wait until Natasha comes walking stiffly back out, fully clothed now. 

The clothes are huge, and they dwarf her: the sleeves come down to her elbows, she rolls the legs of the sweatpants up four times and tucks the shirt in to avoid it dragging around her knees. Hill hides a grin in her steaming cup, and Natasha scowls like a cross child when Bucky laughs at her.

"I'll get you, Barnes. I'll replace all your underwear with Princess Jasmine knickers."

"I like Princess Jasmine," Bucky replies. "And that's no way to treat your saviour."

"Thank you," she mumbles with a roll of her eyes, curling slowly up into a comfortable ball on his couch. "Can you burn my clothes?" Bucky nods.

"I might have to burn the whole bathroom, as well. Next time go to a real doctor, yeah?" The two women exchange a mercury-quick glance, and Bucky raises his eyebrows. "I gotta tell Sam you're back-"

"Don't," Natasha says, wheezing as she rearranges herself around the pain. Bucky eyes Natasha, and then Hill. Neither of them crack.

"He's been worried sick, you've missed two mission, he's had me on your case for days-"

"Please, James," Natasha interrupts, softly. She has that look in her eyes, a look he barely remembers. Years ago, when the few new boys had survived their first night in the trenches. Like the kid in Russia, from the mercenary group that cowered behind a bush his first firefight. Like that S.H.I.E.L.D agent with the big mouth, still wet behind the ears, that stared down the barrel of the Winter Soldier's AR-15 and cried and wet himself in his last few moments. He doesn't know if its real, because he remembers watching twenty-eight little girls rearrange their facial expressions at a frankly terrifying rate, all at the same time, like mechanised dolls in rows. But he looks at Hill and she blinks at him, with just a trace of guilt and fear behind her cool façade. 

"Alright," he says, and Natasha does an impression of visibly relaxing. Bucky doesn't want to trust her expressions, but he also doesn't want to believe that she'd manipulate him. Who is he kidding? He's seen her lie her way through Steve far too many times to count. But he just nods along and figures that next time, next time she wants something or needs to keep him quiet, he'll dig and he'll ask and she won't keep it secret.

Natasha sighs and closes her eyes, and Bucky looks over at Hill. Just for a second, she lingers on Natasha, and then she clears her throat and meets Bucky's gaze.

"I'll cover for her," she says. "To Sam, Tony, everyone. Don't worry, you won't have to say a thing." Bucky smiles, and sees Hill's line of sight fall back to Natasha.

"Great. I've got a couple things to do and Steve's coming home in a couple hours, but you're welcome to stay until then. Couch is all yours." Hill flushes and Bucky realises too late what he's just insinuated, but he gets _some_ knowledge out of it, so he decides to keep it innocent, with a hint of a knowing smile. "TV has a lot of cartoons, there's more coffee in the cupboard, just don't tell Tony where we keep it. Make yourselves comfortable. Alright?"

"Thank you," Hill says, smiling gratefully. Bucky looks at Natasha. She seems to be sleeping, but he'd be a fool if he didn't know better.

"You think she's asleep?" he asks, peering over Hill's shoulder. She turns.

"Nope. Why?" Bucky shrugs and grins the grin that makes Steve call him a little shit.

"You seem like you've got her all figured out," he says. Hill dispenses a Look in his direction, and he figures it might not be too dissimilar to the one she gives Tony whenever he's being annoying.

"I've dealt with worse than you, Barnes," she warns, and Bucky spreads his hands.

"Straight facts from my line of sight," he protests, and he dodges Hill's attempt to punch him in the arm, grabs his phone and key from the table and makes for the door. "You kids have fun!" he calls, and he leaves before Hill can throw something at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I would be super appreciative of some feedback in the comments! :)
> 
> That request for writing thing still stands too btw I am dried out for ideas and I'm too tired to write GG now. Would love some requests to do justice to (hopefully)


	9. love it when you hold me close...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky likes the quiet and the resting that comes with Steve.

Maria and Natasha are gone by the time Bucky returns home with Steve, and an hour later, he gets a text from Sam.  
**  
S: superspy returned with mild injuries**

**B: you know where she was?**

**S: don't play coy barnes**

**B: im not**

**S: I can see right through you**

**B: coy? who's that bitch**

**S: have you been talking to spiderkid again**

**B: yes**

**S: kill me**

**B: do a flip**

**S: ok u can't make out of context internet references it doesn't make sense and it makes me cringe pls you're way too old for this**

**B: I sure hope it does  
**

"Is that Sam?" Steve asks, draped across the couch in his sweats. Bucky leans his elbows on the kitchen counter and sets down his phone.

"Yup. Nat came back."

"Oh, great. Say, you wouldn't happen to have cut yourself, would you?"

"Say what you mean, Rogers," Bucky says, fixing him with an eye.

"Did Nat come by here before she visited the tower? And don't lie, you're bad at it." Bucky blinks. How is it that two people already figured it out? He really _must_ have a bad poker face.

"You mad?" he asks, and Steve shakes his head.

"Nah. She's got her reasons, huh? C'mere, I wanna read to you."

"Mister Rogers, you flatter me," Bucky says, sloping across the floor and collapsing into Steve's arms so that his face is squished nicely into Steve's muscular chest. Steve opens _The Binding_ and Bucky starts to fall into his voice, to break apart all over him, to stain Steve with the pieces of himself.

Sam drops by in the evening just to let Bucky know 'how full of shit' he is, and Clint tags along with a purple cast on his wrist and Hawkeye band-aids all over his lacerated face to let them know, excitedly, that he's found another Hawkeye. 

"She's _awesome_. Bow and everything! She's called Kate and I'm gonna meet up with her and we're gonna be partners."

"Like a sidekick?" Steve asks, and Clint shakes his head, grips Steve by the shoulders and sighs.

"No, Mister America. Like _partners_. Like a _duo_. We're gonna take the world by storm."

Then Sam hauls him out and back to the Tower, and the apartment is quiet and soft again, and Bucky falls asleep on Steve's chest again, in bed, in warmth, in safety.


	10. until the end of the line?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If peace is what this is, Bucky would take it over anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This can be read as an AU/Canon Divergent fic follow on from _his shattered soul_ , because I paralleled the plum scene flashback in this. If you haven't read _his shattered soul_ , you don't have to but I'd love more hits and feedback, so please check it out if you're intrigued! X

Steve likes to spend days at the compound and the Tower, around the others. He sometimes wiggles sweets and bags of plums in front of Bucky, as bribes to make him come with, and Bucky always caves. He never admits that the greatest bribe is the kiss on the nose and the hand on his hip and the bright blue smiling eye he gets from Steve when he agrees to tag along. Besides, he's at the Tower about three days a week anyways with Tony and Parker in the lab on the spinny chair with electrical sparks floating down like fireflies and Bruce's various incenses and teas filling the room with a gloamy odour.

Today, the Avengers are having a day off. Always battle-ready, of course, but laying back with a relaxed outer shell. Wanda meets them at the door to the tower with Vision hanging onto her hand and a blush smoothed over her pale cheeks, and she whisks around them and out into the hot sunshine before Bucky can start to tease her in Russian. (They became instant friends a few weeks ago when she furiously cussed Steve out, with an innocent smile, in Russian, for eating the last of the _baklava_ that Nat had brought back from a mysterious trip that Bucky suspected had something to do with Maria Hill and Nick Fury. Bucky had choked on his tea and internally vowed to get closer to this fiery, sweet-faced girl.)

Steve watches them go with shining amusement, and Bucky grins wickedly at Wanda's retreating head. He'll get her when she's back.

They take the elevator to the ninety-ninth floor: FRIDAY freaked Bucky out the first time he got in the buttonless elevator, but now they're positively pally.

"Sup, FRIDAY," Bucky says, leaning against the back wall and eyeing the paper bag of plums curled into Steve's large hand. They're juicy and just the right colour, and he swears he'll get to them before Clint can.

"Sergeant Barnes. Captain Rogers," FRIDAY replies, echoing around their heads like some kind of deity. Steve reached over to Bucky, his fingers searching like beacons, and Bucky pushes his palm against Steve's. He thinks of the clink of two rings and his face goes hot and his chest gets tight, not yet, not yet. Nasim has advised him against putting himself in anxiety-inducing situations, but Bucky thinks he can outlast this one himself. Besides, it has a happy ending. He hopes, lurching with panic. He's going to ask Steve to marry him.

The elevator lets them out on the roof of the Tower. The air is cooler and brighter up here than in the ground, and with the wide view and incredible skyline, it's always been Steve's favourite drawing haunt. And anything Steve loves, Bucky loves with him. Their fingers are still loosely tangled together, so Steve raises the bag of plums to the others in lieu of a wave hello. Clint sees them from his perch atop the outdoor table, and is over by Steve's other side before Bucky can blink.

"What's up, Edward Elric?" Clint greets, snatching the plums from Steve's fist and dipping his hand in.

"Easy on the fruit, Barton," Natasha calls loudly, sauntering up after him. "Don't want to get diarrhoea again, do you?" Clint throws a plum at her and she catches it just before it hits her nose. She moves in to hug Bucky, and if Bucky sees those discreet stitches under her collar, he doesn't mention it. She hasn't been on a field mission in weeks. She _has_ been in contact with Fury, but Bucky has let his security checks fall just short of that. 

"How you guys doin'?" Steve asks, rescuing the plums from Clint and signing _stay away_. Clint sticks his tongue out. Then Tony steps out from the elevator behind them, sunglasses and swimming trunks and nothing else on.

"Well, the world's not on fire right now," he says, eyeing Steve's plums.

"Glad to hear it," Steve says, as they embrace.

"Come on, we've got a pool party going on. Rhodey's here and everything," Tony says, tipping his chin to the pool on the other side of the roof.

"I brought plums," Steve says, holding up the plums with a grin. Clint looks like he's about to start drooling, and Tony just rearranges his sunglasses and walks away with a sigh.

All of them, Sam and Thor and Rhodey and Parker and Bruce included, end up either floating in the pool or lazily draped across the grass, under the cool shadow of the fig tree that Bruce had planted a few months ago. Clint and Sam are half-heartedly splashing each other with water. Natasha is painting Bruce's toenails a bright yellow and chattering with Rhodey. Parker and Tony are talking shop. Thor is sunk into a bed of brightly coloured floats, unaware of Clint sneaking up on him.

Steve is on his stomach in the heat, grass curling over his sketchbook pages and New York sewn together by his pencil on the old paper in his notebook, and his white sleeves are rolled up over his forearms. Hands and wrists smudged with graphite. Bare feet and a head of blinding gold. Bucky rests his head against the fig tree and licks purple juice off his fingers, the outraged roars of Thor echoing and blending into the road traffic, miles below them. There's a huge splash, which Bucky can only assume is Clint being thrown into the water at a high speed, and an outburst of almost hysterical laughter from Sam.

"Did Siobhan Walsh ever become an archaeologist?" Bucky wonders aloud. Natasha shifts next to him, lips stained with plum juice.

"She worked in a museum for a time," Steve murmurs, looking up with a half-squint to check the ribbon of a city laid out on the horizon. "You know, tour guide. After the war, I think she got to go to Egypt. Not sure."

"She's gotta be dead now," Bucky says, weighing a plum stone in his hand. The juice seeps into the cracks in his palm. 

"Yeah," Steve says heavily. "Well, technically, so are we, Buck." He pauses to finish the frame of his sketch. A skeleton of a drawing. Bucky knows the pattern of Steve's pencil like he knows the back of his right hand. "You had a right thing for her, dintcha?" Steve says, with a slight grin. Bucky sets the plum stone down on the grass.

"Yeah, for a bit. She knew, I think."

"Please. We all saw right through you," Steve snorts, and Bucky picks the plum stone back up again and chucks it at Steve's ear. "Ouch. Asshole."

"Language, Rogers," Tony drawls from the table. Parker's busy drawing some kind of suit sketch, with Tony hanging over his shoulder, martini in hand. Bucky blinks away an uncanny resemblance of Howard, and Tony looks at him over his sunglasses. "You ever seen the Cap PSAs, Barnes?" he asks. Bucky looks at Steve, whose ears are glowing red.

"God," Parker groans. "You know they're like an hour long?"

"Yeah, kid, I had to fuckin' film them," Steve mutters. Parker straightens his back with a crack and puts on a funny face.

"So you got detention. You screwed up. You know what ya did was wrong. Question is, how're you gonna fix it?" He puts on a deep, posh voice, and Bucky makes incredulous eyes at Steve, but Parker's not finished. "Take it from me, manners aren't what they used to be in the 30s-"

"I'm disowning you in behalf of Brooklyn, you two-faced liar," Bucky snorts, as Steve buries his head in his arms. "You swear in your _sleep_." Parker grins wickedly and turns back to his sketch just as Thor, soaking wet and wearing the tiniest swimming shorts Bucky has ever seen, lumbers over from the pool.

"Bruce, he pushed me in," he grumbles, throwing himself down on the grass and glaring over at a floating Clint. Clint signs over at them: _he started it_ , and Bucky shakes his head and turns back to Steve.

"Maybe you deserved it," Bruce says, eyes closed, hat over his face. Thor pouts. Actually _pouts_ , and waits. Bruce sighs. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"You want me to paint your nails, Thor?" Natasha asks, and Bucky stops listening in case he starts laughing and offends a thousand year old Norse god.

Tony gets lunch. The sun rises and sinks, and Tony gets supper. Steve's ribbon of New York takes on form, and Bucky rations his plums carefully, thinking achingly of Rebecca and Siobhan and hot days under the plum tree, with too short trousers and Steve's patched-up linen shoulders, thin bones giving him shape. It's one of his only memories from before the war, from that long ago, and it might be faded and scuffed and water-marked with age, but he has it and he loves it.

Bruce falls asleep. Thor puts sun cream on every inch of Bruce's skin that he can see. Parker dozes over his work. Tony drapes himself over a deck chair with a drink, Rhodey keeps a careful eye on Clint and Sam. Natasha rests her head on Bucky's shoulder, and Bucky watches Steve's hands make work of the city as it starts to glitter in the dusk.

Maria drops by: a nod to the others, a cautious hand on Natasha's shoulder, a secret smile to Bucky. She sits by the pool with Rhodey, and Natasha keeps a subtle half-eye on her.

"Get a room already," Bucky mumbles jokingly, and Natasha punches him in the thigh. "Ow. Honestly, though."

"I'm warning you, Barnes," she says, in a drowsy growl. She tips her head back in the golden sunset, eyes closing, and the light seems to set her hair on fire, like some kind of tiny, fine-boned demon. Bucky lets his face crease in a fond smile, and Steve keeps scribbling. His pencil goes back and forth, but he moved positions an hour ago, and Bucky can't see his drawing now.

The night stretches out before them, in the trail of Steve's pencil, in the gentle whiffling of Bruce's snores, in the sideways glances Natasha casts at Maria. Quiet, familial.

Bucky shifts Natasha's head from his shoulder and stands, carefully, his limbs creaking into the right places. He walks to the railing on the other side of the roof, far enough away that Sam's laughter and Thor's low voice and Rhodey and Maria's chatter is just a hum in the dark. He reaches for the railing, with his left hand, and grips onto it. Strong, then light, then really hard. The metal dents from his fingers and he pulls back suddenly, his heart jumping with the horror of bones crisply snapping beneath his metal fingers.

Steve comes up behind him, long, military strides, and there's a hand on Bucky's shoulder before he can really panic about the arm. Steve draws to a stop beside him and reaches for Bucky's metal hand. He tugs away, his pulse fluttering in his throat, but Steve reaches again and presses his fingertips into Bucky's carbon palm. He can feel Steve's warmth, the pressure of his hand through the arm, like he has his own nerves and skin and bones back again. He won't ever get used to it.

"Hey," Steve says, leaning in to kiss him.

"Hey yourself," Bucky breathes against his lips.

"What's wrong?" Steve asks, and Bucky almost laughs, because there's nothing that could be wrong right now. He has Steve, and he has home, and he has some semblance of peace, and he has a question that he wants to ask.

"Steve..." It's an important question, but he can't. He'll make it sometime, he'll beat his own panic to the finish line, but not right this second. Bucky takes a breath. And another. "What were you drawing?" Steve pulls his sketchbook from his pocket and flicks open the thumbed pages to the last one. It's three from the back. Bucky makes a mental notes to get him another book. Steve turns the sketchbook around, and it's three people, leant against a tree in the midday heat. On one page, Bucky can see his war-era short hair, his too-short trousers, and the archaeologist with her lashes spread across her cheek against the midday sun. His sister, with a grinning mouth full of plum, sits primly to the side in her old dress and her sloped shoulders. On the other page, Natasha rests against his metal shoulder, and Bruce lies on the ground with his hat on his face. Bucky watches his own face, immortalised in pencil and paper, grinning and creased and peaceful.

"You like it?"

"Is it a metaphor?" is all Bucky can say. He's breathless from the onslaught of Steve's memories. Had he ever looked so carefree? Is his face still creased and peaceful? Steve looks fondly down at the notebook.

"You told me that was one of your oldest memories. Our little family. Well, now we've got a big one. You think?"

"I think..." he can't even speak now. Steve's still holding his metal hand. His other hand is on Steve's chest, his white shirt. He grips the fabric with his fingertips, traces his palm all the way to Steve's collar, to his neck, to wind into his gold-spun hair. Steve is just watching him, jewel eyes, sharper than the ocean or the sky or anything blue. Sharp and jewel-like and Steve. "Will you marry me?" There's a long, terrible pause, full of years and blood and...plums? and gold-spun hair and smeared pencil marks and metal and bullets and the sun from an old memory, where a strange-knitted family ate plums beneath a tree, and Bucky watched Steve stitch the world together in his notebook. "Until the end of the line?" Steve's blink is ever so slow, but Bucky can name every emotion that flashes through it. Not right now, but later he'll tell him, how he knows him, how he can touch him and know, he can kiss him and know, he can _look_ and know the stream of thought behind that sharp blue of an eye. Bucky only has to wait a second, but it drags like seventy years of separation. It doesn't matter anymore.

"Yeah. 'Til the end of the line."

There's a ring in his pocket, and now it's gold on Steve's finger, an oil lamp in a cold night.

They kiss for a long second, and the peace of the dark embraces them, too.

He's never imagined this kind of peace.

Except maybe long ago, two kids playing in the street. Two kids sharing a bed in the chill of winter. Two kids watching the sun rise. Two kids in the same war, two kids on the opposite side of a war, two kids longing for the other.

He's never imagined the kind of peace that comes with Steve, and he's never letting go again. There never _will_ be an end of the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! It's nice to come to the end of something quite long and hard-worked! I hope you all enjoyed it.
> 
> Shout out to Trez26 for the comments on all my chapters ♥️ happy to have you along for the ride!


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